Project Beast: Haunted
by DodgeStreaker
Summary: Even the infamous Beast Eater is haunted by his past, a Hunter like any other who has seen the worst of the worse. Experiences that haunt your very dreams... Disclaimer: Bloodborne (c) FromSoftware


**A/N:** _Oh would you look at that, I actually posted something after a couple years of being dead! HUH! And would you look at that? My writing style has changed to! AND WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT?! This website still sucks at adding all the characters to the casting list!_

 _Guess who's not surprised!_

 _This is why AO3 is better when it comes to things like tags and character listing :I_

* * *

He found himself there again, reliving the Hell hole he thought he had escaped well long ago, but it would seem that the memories had never truly left him. The night sky was a dark overcast, the downpour making it almost impossible to hear anything but; the darkness only able to be warded away by the faint glow of his belt lantern. Murky soil clung to his shoes making it difficult to move as if it wanted him to remain still, wanted him to be easy prey. All around him he could make out the wailing screeches of the beast, echoing a muffled tune of death as the rain drowned out almost every incoherent syllable. It filled his head with a buzzing ring and he knew it was preparing to rip him apart like it had the others; hunting him instead of him hunting it. How _ironic_. Tightening the grip on his Whirligig Saw's staff, he was overwhelmed by the dreadful feeling of guilt and shame, allowing it to swell inside him and he knew the realization of its outcome. How the loneliness taunted him, cursed his name and attached itself to his soul.

What a fool he had been. What fools _they_ had been!

Looking north from his location he could somewhat make out the dim haze of lights that shined through the sky's fitful clouds, looking out to image the city that laid almost completely hidden away within the terrain of the mountains. Oh, Yharnam. Oh and _he_ **knew** that _they_ **knew** of the events that was currently spiraling down, _knew_ that _they_ **could hear** the echoes of the blood that had been split on these soils! **Knew** of his loss, his pain and agony that had swelled and churned into revenge, but what _was_ he to them? Just some poor, pathetic foreigner! A Constable who had lost his troupe on the night of the Hunt, a Constable with little experience in handling the weapons he wielded. Yet he **knew** they would tell the tales of him for his foolishness, and even more so for its hint of blood. What sick people, them and their blood alike! Damn them!

Though his sudden action almost felt like instinct as he swiftly turned upon hearing the roar of the once human creature, injecting him with a boost of adrenaline like Hunters would minister their blood through vials while on the field if injured. Swinging the saw with a great deal of force, the blades revved, spinning in opposite directions as it was intended to wound and kill in the most cruel ways possible. A best fitted weapon to slay a beast, even if granted to a foreigner. To tear and cleave away at fur matted flesh, creating open wounds that would scar but never heal. To kill the fiend!

 _He missed._

But that's not how it had originally went and he knew his memories couldn't possibly be that foggy, that delusional...Could they? Jerking forward the razor like claws of the beast dug straight into his back, slashing away where he had been left exposed as it dashed on by, taking the opportunity presented from his failed attempt. _Had he really been this sloppy...?_ He swung again, missing just like before. Truly this couldn't be happening! Couldn't have really happened! He was certain, was he not...?

Hands wrapped around his neck, gripping down tight on his throat; taking his breath away. Fingers curling around him, nails digging into his skin, threatening to cut him open. _Human hands._

 _"You let us die, Valtr."_

Muffled whispers filled his head, reminding him all too well of his mistakes: his guilt, his shame, his agony. Like he deserved it. Each voice was all too familiar in his mind, swirling deep into his brain and raking it for more memories, more pain to give him, like a punishment from an unending nightmare. And though it was futile, he still tried to pull away, tried to see passed the falsehoods of the nightmare that had merged with his past. Trying to rid his consciousness of this horrid dream. It truly felt like he was choking, suffocating to death as all light that remained began to fade. Faster, colder. It was so cold...A void created by the emptiness, the loneliness. Yet all he saw was the very thing that had cursed his mind the most, cursed his sight, cursed him! Scorched him to the very core of his soul. _Impurity._

* * *

Waking with a sudden gasp for air he almost felt as if he had whiplash as he jolted up into a sitting position, grabbing at his throat only to find nothing but the loose material of his garb. He nearly jumped upon hearing a loud metallic clang against the old wooden planks of the floor, looking down only to see the iron helm he wore to conceal his face rocking back and forth where it had landed. Giving a soft sigh there was an ache in his heart and all the imaginary wounds he had dreamed of were gone. He felt weak and wrong inside, twisted like an old rag that had been wrung out too much; he laid back down on the old straw mattress, moving up an arm to cover his face and he closed his eyes, but he didn't wish to dream. The silence that lingered around his room seemed to drag on the time he spent in the waking world, making each second that ticked by feel like an hour; though when it came he was sure an eternity had already passed by rather than a few minutes. A soft knock on the door.

He beckoned the visitor to come in with a few simple words, though he thought his voice sounded raw when they had escaped his lips. Had he really been crying in that short amount of time? The thoughts were casted off when he felt a weight take perch on the edge of his bed, a hand moved and gently pressed onto his shoulder, but it didn't force him to peek to see who it was.

"Is everything alright, Master? We heard a noise from downstairs so I came up to check." _Ah, Madaras._ Though he knew who the person was he could easily identify that it was the older twin who had come to see him, always the one with the softer tone, his one Confederate who stayed around with him rather than going out on the Hunt with the others. The others always seemed more... _Fond_ of the Hunt, to help others as they did their duties as Hunters, but also their duties as Confederates of his; seeking out and destroying all vermin to be found so they may quench the Impurity within them. It almost made him say something, but he stopped himself. Unable to find the words to express what was on his mind, to express his guilt, his pain, his foolishness. The tragedy he wish he could forget. But even with his silence, his lack of will to speak, the twin remained there, unmoving and patient.

"I-" It had taken him minutes to find the will to speak, his voice croaked and his throat was dry; feeling the creasing of his skin against his sleeve he now knew that he really had been crying. Yet the twin still remained, quiet and listening. He could feel his stare on him, and even though he could not see his face he knew well of the blank expression that was dabbed with concern, he had known him for far too long not to know. "It's...It's nothing, just a bad dream..." The words felt foreign to him, just like he was to Yharnam even after all this time. Never had he confessed a nightmare before, never once had he given it thought to how he would explain one. All he's ever done was live them, nothing was ever needed to be spoken then; all of it was the experience, the memories and the old burned in reflexes of it. Words could not make those, could not make sense of those, it just couldn't. Silence followed after his words and he almost sworn that the twin had left him without his notice, causing him to almost reach out to see if he was still there, but he stopped his actions before they even started.

"It's alright Master," the words were soft, though they weren't filled with sympathy or pity, making his heart flutter in his chest knowing well of his feelings towards the situation. "It's morning, the Hunt is over, would you like to accompany me for a stroll?" Ah, always a clever man. _Always._

"...Yes. I'd like that."


End file.
